


I Spy...

by Im_only_mildly_ashamed



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: F/F, Guns, Mentions but not descriptions of nudity, Pining, Violence, possible one sided relationship, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 22:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_only_mildly_ashamed/pseuds/Im_only_mildly_ashamed
Summary: A small mistake that almost ended in disaster,An intensely unprofessional attraction,and an attempted murder.





	1. Alone 1

This was the worst part.

The waiting.

She’d have to wait for another five hours and thirty-seven minutes.

Sitting around and waiting for hours is awful enough, but Canary had to wait for a party.

With sparkling champagne and fake smiles and those awful dresses.

She was going there to snap a peace treaty in two, but still.

The waiting was hard.


	2. Party 1

The party was bland.

All those hours of waiting, nothing to do but check and recheck for bugs and spies and it led to this.

She sighed and shifted from one uncomfortable shoe to other, feeling quite exposed and out of place.

She wondered if the dress was too much.

Even if it was, she’d had no say in it.

She was really hoping she could just murder a short, limping politician already.


	3. Chapter 3

At a certain point, the waiting gets maddening.

Hours of silent meditation, routine, bordering-on-unhealthy bug and street checks all became increasingly unhelpful.

The boredom seeped in, evil and constant.

Normally, Canary would switch on the TV and surf channels for a few hours.

If she was really lucky, she might get sucked into a football game.

The TV wouldn’t turn on.

She couldn't even ask for help, she wasn’t registered to her room, because she’d been snuck in by a cleaning lady who thought she was hiding from an abusive spouse.

So she was left to to stew until she went stir crazy.

_ Five hours and and six minutes left. _


	4. Party 2

Politically, she was nobody.

Somebody on the disparate fringes of negotiations, supposedly an expert on one side or the other’s food, or sports infrastructure, or something.

She’d been given a briefing packet on it, but she hadn’t bothered to memorize it before burning it.

All this to say that Canary didn’t feel comfortable enough with her heavy, fake accent, mostly bluffed “insider expertise”, and political status to start any real conversations.

Sure, she’d occasionally talk about hors d'oeuvres or the weather with the other nobodies, but she largely kept to herself.

At least, she wanted to.


	5. Alone 3

Perhaps it was the smell of the hotel room.  
Perhaps the TV being broken was the last straw.  
But Canary was going insane.  
She needed to get out of the hotel room.  
Get some food.  
Anything.  
The problem was, her employers intentionally did not make this an option.  
Her job involved going to faraway places and watching and/or killing important people.  
What went with her on the plane ride here was under the control of her employers.  
Canary had; one set of clothes, cab fare to get to the party and back to the airport, her ticket for plane ride back, her way into the party  
And, of course, a revolver and six bullets.  
She had the rough equivalent of a few nickels left over from the cab fair and scrounged from under the dresser and bedside table, but that could hardly buy a meal.  
She sighed.  
Perhaps it’d be good enough to just go for a walk?  
Her stomach grumbled an audible objection.  
She flailed her legs in the air above her and pouted  
“Maybe this is what hell is like,” she grumbled.


	6. Party 3

It was her.

The mysterious and flirtatious woman who’d bought her food.

Canary had never gotten to thank her beyond accidentally offering to eat her out.

Canary winced as that memory jumped into her brain’s driverseat, and immediately crashed it into a moment of crystal clear adoration.

_ She’s beautiful. I’d be honored to eat her out. _

was all it supplied for six heartbeats.

During that time she stood, possibly slack-jawed, she couldn’t tell, and watched the mystery woman strut across the room like she was the ruler of a runway.

Partway through Canary’s seventh admittedly-quickening heartbeat, she noticed the mystery woman locked arms with a portly, short, and and redfaced man.

The man she was assigned to kill.

She didn’t know the details; again, her employers had intentionally left her in the dark, but she knew the look and she knew his trademark limp.

Canary’s heart began to spasm in her chest and her paranoia with it.

_ Shit.  _

_ Who is that woman actually? _

_ Did she avoid sharing her name by design? _

_ Why is she here with  _ **_him_ ** _? _

_ Why? _

_ Why is she is here? _

_ Is is pure chance? _

_ That’s almost impossible, what the fuck? _

_ Did she fucking  _ **_poison_ ** _ me? _

_ Shit. _

_ One meal out. _

_ Shit. _

_ The fucking control freaks were right. _

_ Shit. _

_ I should have stayed in my room and fucking starved. _

At that half joke of a thought, Canary stopped.

She shook out her shoulders, and took a deep breath.

In.

Then out.

Then, from the corner of her mind, her paranoia threw her one more, stupid,  **stupid** thought as she looked at her champagne.

_ Is this poisoned? _

She set her glass of champagne down.

_ Shit. _

**_Shit._ **


	7. Cafe 1

Canary had, by design of those who controlled more aspects of her life than any sane person would be comfortable with, one outfit.

And it was not something you would wear out and about on the street.

It was an expensive, red and long dress. 

Other than that, Canary couldn’t tell you.

Certainly not clothes you would wear to get food for nickels and dimes.

And besides it all, she couldn’t risk dirtying the dress, she only had the one.

So she had no money and clothes that stuck her out like a sore thumb.

Canary would be damned if that stopped her.

She just wanted a free meal and a way to kill some time, plans and consequences be damned.

So she’d dine and dash, attract unwanted attention, and break a spy’s golden rule.

What was the worst that could happen?


	8. Party 4

If she was really, really fast, she could maybe, **possibly** , board the plane and leave the country without having to finish the hit.

“Shit!” Canary swearing echoed in the large marble bathroom.

She knew that wasn’t an option.

_Maybe the red-haired woman was sent by my own organization to off me._

_Maybe there is no job._

 

_But then why would she be at this party?_

_Shit._

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshi-_

Canary took a deep breath.

In through the nose.

Out through her mouth.

One more.

In.

And out.

Canary looked herself steady in the mirror.

“I am going to get through this,” she said to the mirror, forcing her expression to fake her composure for her.

_One more time._

Breath in.

Hold.

And out.

Canary’s heart began to slow its almost painful pace.

_What are the facts?_

_One: The woman I met with earlier in the day is here now._

_Two: That same woman showed a special interest in me._

_Three: Now she’s arm in arm like from the Wizard Of Fucking Oz with the person I’m in a foreign country to kill._

_Four: This mystery woman had means, motive, and opportunity to slip something in my food._

_Shit shit_ **_shit_ ** _. If I hadn’t acted like a lovesick schoolkid, this never would have-_

_Deep breath._

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

_It follows logically that if the mystery woman did want to kill me before I got to the party, she could have._

_Therefore-_

Canary jumped as the bathroom door creaked open.


	9. Cafe 2

Canary had found this little restaurant around the corner, and sat down in one of the outside seats.

It was a nice day.

The air didn’t smell like weed and lemon cleaning fluid.

A waiter promptly arrived, laying out a menu and smiling just a little more fondly than proper.

Canary could have hid the small blush that reached her cheeks as she returned an equally fond smile.

She chose not to.

_ Perhaps I could get a free meal out of this if I really milk it.  _

She schemed, ever desperate for a chance to avoid risk.

While she was scheming, her waiter returned, setting down a tall glass of cold water.

“Are you ready to order?” The local tongue drawled casually off his lips, reminding Canary which language to speak and with what accent.

“Um… Do you know what is good?” She said, remembering to stumble over her vowels like a good little spy.

The waiter smiled, seemingly endeared by her incompetence.

“I cannot read too well in this language,” Canary followed up. 

She needed to keep this man close if she was going to seduce out a free meal.

“Well maybe we can find something you’ll like,” said the waiter, before rotating around the table and standing next to her.

Canary smiled.

_ Lucky me. _


	10. Party 5

There she was, the redhead who had given her most of a heart attack.

Her hair wasn’t coiled up into a bun anymore: it spilled down onto her shoulders like some gorgeous river of orange.

They made eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time before Canary looked back to the mirror.

_ It would make no sense to assume she’s a spy, given that I checked for anyone watching me or tailing me at the cafe. _

_ On top of that, she had a chance to kill me and sh- _

Canary felt an arm wrap around the front of her chest.

Just below her breasts.

Some of that waterfall of deep orange cascaded along her shoulders and chest as the woman who was beginning to ruin her life rested her chin on Canary’s shoulder.

“I’m glad I ran into you again,” she said, voice gentle and intoxicating.


	11. Cafe 3

The red-haired woman wore a loose black t-shirt and skirt with flowers on it that was just long enough to billow slightly in a gentle breeze.

And the breeze blew gently around her, picking up the few strands that loosened from her bun and tugging them to wherever the wind went.

A thought occurred to Canary.

She had literally never seen anyone so beautiful.

The sun shone down and the woman was glancing at her phone while stepping across the street, but the thought remained.

She was beautiful.

The moment stood still..

The red-haired woman looked up at her.

There.

Catch it and freeze it.

That moment when her expression is half caught by the mild disapproval that started on her mouth and the smile in her eyes.

When the wind picks up just enough to loose a few more strands of hair, and when the sun shines just right to put a perfected glimmer on those free strands of orange-red silk.

When her hand, held up to shield her eyes from the sun, leaving some of her thin, graceful fingers partly curled andCanary can almost see those tiny dots of brown on her knuckles.

Canary blinks.

The moment is over.

Canary realizes she’s staring.

She quickly turns to face down at her food.

Her heart is slamming against her chest like a desperate prisoner on bars.

_ Fuck. _ Is all she thinks during a long, hard stare at her meat covered in gravy.

**_Fuck._ **


	12. Party 6

Canary’s cheeks were red but she could see her expression was stoney in the mirror.

The red-haired woman on her shoulder was the opposite, her face the same lightly tanned color it always was and her expression gently woven into a peaceful smile.

Canary could feel the soft pressure of the slightly taller woman’s breasts pressing into her back.

She swallowed, hyper-aware of how close she was but still managing to maintain control.

The red-haired woman let the tip of her tongue slip out between her vibrately red lips and onto Canary’s neck, slowly drawing it up her jugular.

Canary’s body had frozen, the best she could do was watch in aroused horror.

Her tongue leaped off Canary’s neck when it met jaw, then the red haired woman completely withdrew.

Canary’s loss of heat was immediate and almost painful.

She didn’t turn to watch her leave until the door creaked open again.

Their eyes caught for a moment.

And then the door swung shut.

Canary entered a stall, locked it behind her and removed her underwear.

She then rolled off the top of her dress and unfastened her bra.


	13. Cafe 4

Canary guessed she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She couldn’t actually blame the mysterious redhead; her shirt hid it well.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask for your payment.”

The waiter had notice her staring a while ago, and was not pleased.

“Do you mind giving me a few minutes?” she asked, smile almost genuine and almost not distracted by the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

“Ma’am, you’ve been here for nearly two hours, I’m going to have to ask for you to pay.” The waiter raised his voice slightly.

Canary licked her lips.

This could get really, really ugly.

She could  **not** get arrested.

This was really, really bad.

“Um, hi, do you mind if I pay for both of us?”

Canary turned.

There she was, red hair tied up and wallet in hand.

Like an angel of beauty and food.


	14. Party 7

Out of the lining of her underwear, Canary withdrew about two dozen small, plastic bits.

An expert, after a few minutes of study, could tell you it was the parts of a Smith and Wesson model 15.

One reason it would take them so long is that it was missing a few parts, namely the grip, a spring, and several action pieces.

On top of this, the frame and cylinder were broken up into several chunks, only adding to the clutter and confusion, and making it more likely that the gun would collapse if fired one too many times.

After Canary laid out the many small plastic bits, she took a quick stock to be sure she had all of them.

After a quick count and bouncing nod, she sorted through the nearby toilet paper dispenser.

Out of it she withdrew a small screwdriver and six rounds.

From the back of her bra, near the strap, she withdrew the aforementioned missing spring and action parts.

Being so close to the clip, metal detectors had counted them out.

But she could hid an entire revolver in her bra strap, thus why it was mostly plastic.

On a good day, disassembling and reassembling one of these custom Smith and Wessons took Canary about five and a half minutes.

She found it took her nearly eight to just assemble the piece.

She scolded herself for unprofessionalism and clipped her bra back on.

She stepped into her underwear before awkwardly shuffling it up her legs.

She took a deep breath.

In.

Then out.

She pushed open the stall door and leaned against the wall next to the entrance into main hall.

She took a deep breath.

In.

Then out.

_ Go time. _


	15. Party 8

Canary kicked open the door and took her shot.

She’d had less than a split second to process what she saw, but she’d had an hour to memorize where the rotund man who was her target was sitting.

Her ears rang from the sound of the gunshot and she almost didn’t hear a grown man’s dying scream.

The wrong grown man.

The bullet had torn through the front of his chest and caught on his spine.

If he’d been wearing a bulletproof vest that would have only hurt a hell of a lot, so why did-?

Canary’s eyes caught on movement: a pair of gruff-looking gentlemen were pushing to stand in front of her target, each reaching conspicuously into their front pocket.

Canary closed one eye, leaning again into the gripless revolver.

A second deafening shot rang out.

A second agonized scream.

Still not the right one.

Her bullet had made a mess of one of the bodyguard's forearm, punching a hole through most of it and leaving it limp at his side.

His peer pulled a handgun from his coat and fired, somewhat haphazardly, twice.

He missed, digging a hole into the wall a few feet behind Canary and digging the other through a woman on her other side.

In the half second allowed by this display of unprofessional marksmanship, Canary was aiming and holding her breath.

At the moment woman who’d be caught in crossfire let out her startled, blood adled gasp, Canary fired.

A third deafening gunshot rang out.

It met with its target’s kevlar, to the sound of his stumble and pained gasp.

Canary had two seconds or so before he stood back up, and she planned to make it count.

Her target and the meat in her way were roughly thirty feet away.

She could sprint sixteen of that before he started shooting again.

She compromised, sprinting ten feet and dropping to one knee for a cleaner shot.

A fourth deafening shot rang out.

No pained gasps, no scream.

Just the sound of a man crumpling to the floor.

Canary didn’t bother running anymore.

Security was ironclad on the outside, so the only security on the inside was bodyguards.

Everyone else of concern was being pushed out by the remaining bodyguards.

God of beauty and food included.

She walked casually over to the short, fat man frozen in fear and stuck her revolver in his face.

She pulled the trigger.


	16. Party 9

No deafening bang.

No scream, no thump, no startled gasp.

Just the sound of a soft impact and the tiniest crack.

There was a pinky stuck in the hammer of her gun.

She looked to her right.

Red hair spilt down like a waterfall, and the beautiful freckled face smiled at her.

For a moment, Canary forgot what was going on.

She forgot the ringing in her ears and the weight of a gun.

And then the kick landed.

Swift and brutal.

It caught her square in the side, forcing every ounce of air from her lungs and spilling her out onto the tile.

Her head contacted with tile and she felt a crack.

The red-haired woman stood above her, and she stepped onto Canary’s shoulder, laying her onto her back.

She flicked back the hammer, freeing her shattered pinky from Canary’s gun.

Then she pointed it at Canary,

Who just craned her head slightly.

“I think I’m going to die now.”

She’d forgotten to use her fake accent and foreign language, but the jig was basically up as is.

Canary could see the freckles on the woman’s knuckles and the signs of melting on the plastic of the barrel.

“What’s your name?” were terrible last words, but Canary meant them to be hers.

“Mito,” said the red-haired woman.

A fifth deafening bang rand out.

A started gasp.

_ Oh fuck. _

Canary could feel the pain digging ito her gut.

_ Oh fuck. _

She screamed.

It really, really hurt.

There was another gunshot.


	17. Cafe 5

“I guess I’ll try and eat you out next ti-” Canary realized her mistake and shut up.

It was an honest-to-God mistake; fluent as she secretly was, she’d fucked up.

Her thick accent helped shield some of the embarrassing blow, as she held,briefly, the thin hope of misunderstanding.

Then Canary saw the red-hair woman blush.

Canary began to speak, but she was cut off by the red-haired woman.

“Yeah, maybe sometime. We can go out to a nice restaurant and make a night of it,” she said

Canary opened her mouth to speak, but stopped.

She closed it.

Then nodded her head.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
